WTF. The lock is there, limp like a dead snake, but my bike is gone.
WANTED : BIKE THIEVES – Dead or Alive!
I will pay three shillings a piece for the tongues of bike thieves, plucked from there skull with unsanitary pliers. Bike thieves, worse than arsonists and reefer addicts, are the worst of the worst, and deserve no quarter.
Somebody who rides their bike everywhere they go, and maybe I’m being a bit sanctimonious here, shouldn’t suffer the indignity of having there humble transportation confiscated by ruffians.
It’s just not cool.
And yet I my bike is gone.
I just kinda stand there a moment as Seattle brushes past on 6th and Pine oblivious to my tragedy in C minor. I wheel about to inspect everyone around me, hoping to see a flash of my mountain bike turning a corner. I do a few circles around the block and then, because I had to do something, I walk East. I figure maybe a bike thief would be heading back to a more residential neighborhood and I could head them off at the pass.
I stalk around Capitol Hill then back down town seeing red, clutching my now defunct bike lock, lost in the ironic fantasy of bludgeoning a bike thieve with a bike lock.
Instead, I have a polite conversation with a cop who I couldn’t take seriously because he was wearing Invisaline teeth strips. He wrote down the color of my bike but never asked me my name. He carries that stupid notebook in his pocket to humor a million numbskulls like me.
The bike thieving is a small tragedy. Folks shake their head ‘Damn shame’
Pam Mandel aka Nerd’sEyeView “@joshywashington there is a special place in hell for bicycle thieves. it’s BAD there. REALLY BAD.”
Couldn’t agree more.
My bike is my dragon, my Harley, my valiant steed. You feel me? My bike is my method, my mode and means. It isn’t steel and sprockets. It is my magic carpet. My DeLorean.
Walking home from Dragonfish, a sushi place, I pick up a skate board, lying in the empty street, quite unattended.
I don’t skate board.
But, maybe I do?